


Scents make no sense.

by TinyPineTrees



Series: A/B/O one shots [4]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alpha Alfie Solomons, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gang deals, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Tommy Shelby, Sexism, feeling ill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyPineTrees/pseuds/TinyPineTrees
Summary: Tommy struggles to handle his new pregnancy, clients, deals and Alfie. It’s a learning curve for everyone.





	Scents make no sense.

**Author's Note:**

> For this lovely prompt! 
> 
> Same A/B/O anon! That's so sweet of you to! "Don't make me come down there" and "family" are my favorites, so anything taking place prior to those fics would be great. I'm intrigued by the business-related negotiations that Tommy and Alfie must have gone through during the early days of the pregnancy that were alluded to in "Don't make me." Or just the early days of the pregnancy in general. BTW, the perfume Replica has a fireplace scent, and I think of that when you mention Alfie's scent,
> 
> (I absolutely went out and found this perfume and 10/10 approve and agree.) I hope you love it anon! ❤️

The chair dug uncomfortably into his back, a sharp twinge biting annoyingly at him as he sat forward. His nose wrinkling at the cigar smoke surrounding his client, Wesson. Nausea rolling lowly at the smell. He wafted one hand through the smell, the other finding its way to rub gently over his belly.

He wasn’t showing. The tiny bump he did have didn’t count. Everything still fit, their tailor had given him an eye, but nothing needed altering yet. He wasn’t looking forward to that, but it was inevitable wasn’t it.

He’d have to come up with something to prolong not showing. Alfie had it in his head that he’d take a break from work as soon as it was noticeable. Even Tommy had to agree to some of that, he didn’t want people taking advantage of him or threatening their baby. How long could he get away with not showing though? He wasn’t a tailor, and Alfie was friends with theirs, he couldn't go buy new things, that'd be obvious.

Maybe a bigger coat? Alfie was constantly on him about his coat. _Is it warm enough? Is it thick enough?_ A coat wouldn’t stand out much in a negotiation. Everyone wore coats. Plus he could hide an extra gun then.

“Now, I’m offering a fair price.” Wesson said, seated very comfortably opposite Tommy’s desk. “Especially fair considering you didn’t buy them.”

Tommy hadn’t been extremely interested in doing business with Wesson. An old associate of Kimber’s, and an alpha who stank of cigar smoke, with a reputation for losing at gambling and an infamous temper. He’d managed to come into some luck however, and had begun trying to buy back several racecourses he’d sold to Kimber to pay his debts. Racecourses Tommy had taken over after shooting Kimber. Tommy wasn’t selling, but Wesson had called four times now with no end in sight, and he’d finally agreed to meet. If just to tell him to fuck off personally.

“Again, Mr. Wesson. They’re not for sale now, and they’re not going to be for sale.” He said, checking his watch. It wouldn’t be extremely professional if he threw up in front of his client, but if this took much longer he just might.

“Mr. Shelby, you seem like a nice kid.” Wesson smiled, “Well,” He nodded slightly, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Maybe not nice, but you’ve got a reputation to uphold. I get it.” He leaned forward, folding his hands over Tommy’s desk. “When you come from nothing, it’s hard to give anything away.”

“Mr. Wesson, I’m not selling.” Tommy said again, anger snapping in his chest.

“Given the amount I’m offering, you need to reconsider. You really do Mr. Shelby. I’ll call again tomorrow, when you’re feeling more realistic.” Wesson sniffed, standing and shoving his chair backwards as he pulled on his coat. “I’ve heard you’re a reasonable man. Or, as reasonable as omega’s can be. Your brothers now-”

“Next time, call them. See if they’ll sell.” Tommy snipped, rubbing a hand on his belly again, a low ache throbbing as the cigar stench rolled around the room.

“Excuse me?”

“Try Arthur, or John and stop bothering me.” Tommy toed the rubbish bin nearer, inching it closer.

“Bothering you?” Wesson snarled. “You little rats killed Kimber, stole his racecourses, and now, a legal offer of a considerable sum, and _it’s bothering you?_ ” He flushed, anger painting his cheeks red.

Despite the scent, Tommy took a deep breath, slowly inhaling, and trying to calm himself. Wesson was useless, harmless too. He had a temper but he wasn’t a killer, not by Tommy’s information.

“You don’t actually do anything here, do you? I know what this is.” An epiphany Tommy couldn’t follow broke across Wesson’s face, “You sit behind a desk, and you say ‘yes’ and ‘no’.” He leaned in, waving a finger at him. “But you don’t actually _do_ deals, do you? You just parrot what your told.” Wesson smiled, nodding.

Tommy slowly blinked up at him, watchful as Wesson waved his finger at him, an unnervingly excited expression curling at his lips.

“I know how you and your crime families work. Pretty omega’s in every office, something to entertain and distract us with, to give a good free fuck when someone gets too upset, but no _actual_ work, eh?”

Tommy pushed his chair back and stood slowly, every murderous urge he had erupting and flickering behind his eyes as he leaned into Wesson’s space, despite the stench. Decades of this opinion and attitude liquefying in his veins, anger seething through him and burning in his chest.

“You think I’m pretty, Mr. Wesson?”

Wesson paused, blinking confusedly and looking him up and down.

“Well, it’s what your here for innit?” He flicked his finger at him. “To look, like that-” He nodded at him, “-And to fuck when you’re told. And I think I’m owed that fuck, if you lot aren’t selling, I’m at least owed the fuck, aren’t I?”

Tommy gave a short nod as well, stepping around the desk and undoing his tie.

“So, just, here? Or-or a room? Or,” Wesson stuttered, stopping short as Tommy’s hands cupped his jaw and he leaned in close, inhaling deeply to allow the cigar smell to sink into his stomach. His belly cramped, disagreeing harshly and sending his meager breakfast up, coating down Wesson’s front and onto the floor.

“Jesus fuck!” Wesson staggered backwards, gagging loudly.

“Still think I’m pretty?” Tommy hissed, voice rattling. “Still want to fuck? In a closet maybe?” Tommy asked, stepping close and driving his knee hard into Wesson’s crotch and throwing him sideways into the side table.

Wesson choked and tumbled to the ground, his head cracking the table as he went down. Tommy paused, eyeing Wesson’s still form as blood pooled around his head. Not dead, just unconscious.

“Didn’t think so.” Tommy heaved in a breath, stomach rolling again.

He stumbled back around his desk, grabbing the rubbish bin as his stomach clenched and he threw up again. Wesson had to go, him and his foul stench, far, far away.

Rubbing a hand over his misty eyes, he rested his head against the bin. Willing himself to stop shivering.

“Please little baby, please calm down.” He whispered, rubbing gently over his belly. “Wesson’s a terrible fucker, yes, but not worth getting so upset over.” Reaching up and fumbling through a desk drawer, he pulled out Alfie’s tallit. Wrapping it securely around his neck and up over his nose as he inhaled deeply. His pounding heart calming as faded, but steady bonfire echoed in his nose.

Alfie didn’t know he’d stolen the scarf, and if he ever found out Tommy might die of embarrassment. It was the only thing of Alfie’s he kept in his office. Having stolen it before they’d known he was pregnant, when an unbelievable urge to have something, anything of Alfie’s to hold onto and scent, had torn through him for a week, shredding his ability focus. As if suddenly he’d never see Alfie again, and if he didn’t have something of his in his hands right that very second his heart may well break.

He sat backwards, his head hitting the desk chair as the tightness in his chest eased. Stomach settling. The tallit was a godsend.

He had to get rid of Wesson. The cigar smell was lingering, and now blood and sick were joining it.

Tucking the tallit closer to his nose, he pulled himself up slowly and reached for the telephone. Options running through his head. Arthur would ask too many questions, John would be too grossed out, but Lizzie was right outside, they could lift him together?

His head sank, landing softly on his desk as throbbing headache set in. In a minute, maybe. A minute to breathe and get his head and stomach back on the same page.

A knock echoed in the room, tearing him upwards and out of his trance as the door was pushed open and Alfie stepped in.

Spotting Wesson, he froze.

Concerned eyes took in the blood on his head and bile covering his chest, slowly traveling to the tallit and Tommy.

Bursting to life, Alfie tore past Wesson, bonfire burning as he dodged around the desk.

Tommy jerked away, shaky limbs uncooperative as he tried escaping past his chair. He wasn’t supposed to see the tallit, or Wesson, or how big the baby bump was getting, and now it was ruined. He was fucked. Alfie was going to kill him, or make him stop working. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

Alfie caught him quickly, arms gentle as they came around his middle. A heavy hand quickly tucking his head delicately into Alfie’s neck, where warm, soothing bonfire slowed his mind, dulling his fears. Stealing through his thoughts, and settling his stomach better than the scarf ever could.

He nosed through Tommy’s hair, fingers dancing over him as he checked for injuries and pulled the tallit loose. A sigh escaping him as he deemed Tommy safe.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute eh?” He rumbled in his ear, scent strengthening when Tommy pushes himself closer. It was both too pleasant and disturbing all at once how easily Alfie could calm him. Unfair really. “I’m going to make a phone call for,” Looping a finger around Tommy’s telephone, he held the receiver up to his ear, “Who is this?” He threw a questioning look a Wesson.

“‘Sson.” Tommy mumbled from where is face was pressed tightly into the crook of Alfie’s neck.

“Wesson. Right,” Alfie said, dialing and speaking quickly, his free hand carding through Tommy’s hair. “They’ll be here momentarily. Let’s get out of the bad smell then, eh?” He said, slowly walking them to the door, easing it back open and out into the lobby and to a small side office. Lizzie gave them an eye for a second, but kindly remained quiet.

“So.” Alfie settled them comfortably onto a couch. “Came to get you for lunch. Suppose you’re not feeling too great though, bad meeting?”

“No,” Tommy muttered, fighting the incredibly alluring scent as he pushed himself away. Every instinct in his body, screaming at him to sink back into his embrace. “Same as all the rest really, he just stank.”

“Explains the sick, but not the blood.”

“Alfie,” He started, fear growing inside again. They’d already discussed his stopping work and now Alfie had even more reason. Finding Wesson was the end. He’d make him stop. His heart hammered up near his throat, decade old anxieties and worries creeping up with it. Alfie was going to take it away. He’d make him choose.

“Tommy. I love you.”

He froze as Alfie pulled him close again, bonfire growing again.

“I’m not saying stop working, I am asking, however, for you to consider less meetings. These people all have unusual scents and smells, and clearly they’re upsetting your stomach. And that’s not helpful at all, innit?” Alfie tugged the tallit fully off of him, wrapping it around his own neck and scenting it strongly. “Or maybe just less in person? Got the telephone for a reason don’t you?”

Tommy nodded, the argument washing over him. He could work over the phone, everything on the legal side of the books had access to a telephone in some way.

“It doesn’t have to be immediate, just the more dangerous clients first, you know?” Alfie rubbed a warm hand over his belly. “Dangerous clients get letters and legal ones get phone calls, how's that?”

They’d have to work on it. It had a solid foundation though.

“I did wonder, you know, where this had run off to.” Alfie mumbled, fussing with the tail of the scarf. “If I’d known you needed something-”

“I don’t.”

“Alright. You don’t.”

He pulled the scarf off, loosely wrapping it back around Tommy’s neck, freshly scented and warm. A small smile growing as Tommy’s face burrowed into it.

“Best to leave it here though love. You never know when an emergency prayer might be necessary.” Alfie nodded.

“Emergency, mhm.” Tommy agreed, sinking further into the scarf. “In case of emergency.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment below if you liked it! Come find me on tumblr @tinypinetrees!


End file.
